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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953243">The Hunt Family: How Lucky We Are</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey'>supercasey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Child Avatars AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Child Avatars AU, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Horror, Hunters &amp; Hunting, Murder, Past Character Death, Police Brutality, Werewolf Children, Werewolves, and most everyone in tma, and so is gerry, anyways trevor is trans in this even if i might not mention it, because I said so, past trauma, yes it's time to cry about the hunt found family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 11:46:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Child Avatars AU. Statement of Trevor Herbert given 1994, June 9th, regarding his life as a vampire hunter, his internal battle with the Hunt, and his many encounters with the supernatural that have led him to adopt Julia Montauk and Alice “Daisy” Tonner. Statement recorded by Gerard Keay, assistant archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julia Montauk &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Trevor Herbert &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Trevor Herbert &amp; Gerard Keay, Trevor Herbert &amp; Julia Montauk, Trevor Herbert &amp; Julia Montauk &amp; Robert Montauk, Trevor Herbert &amp; Robert Montauk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA Child Avatars AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Dog Teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Is it any surprise that the Hunt Family’s story is up next? Not in my eyes, no; I love Trevor Herbert with all my heart, so I am required by law to write this. Anyways, I hope you guys end up liking this fic, even if it took awhile to come out!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>December is a really shitty time to be homeless in England, with the weather only promising to get colder as the next few months stack on more and more hardship. Sure, there’s more charity around the holidays, but a few handfuls of change doesn’t keep the cold out or a stomach filled. For these reasons and countless others, Trevor considers himself very lucky to have a car to sleep in at night, as it keeps the worst of the chill from reaching him. It’s a stolen old thing, something he only meant to take for a few days at most, maybe even a week if he took it far enough away from where he found it, but when the owner never reported it missing… well, it’s become something of a luxury for Trevor, as he doesn’t feel the need to ditch it anytime soon. But even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>a car surrounding him and keeping the man from freezing to death, it’s not like it’s as safe or comfortable as a hotel room or, in his most profound daydreams, a house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is proven when, at the ass-crack of dawn, when even the bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>birds </span>
  </em>
  <span>aren’t awake yet, Trevor is rudely awoken by an incessant pounding on one of his windows. He groans under his breath as he slowly comes to, feeling every bit of his age as he rolls onto his back, his entire body aching with pain from being in such a stiff position all night. There’s another series of knocks outside, which only goes to make the man more irritable. Who the hell is bothering him this early? Can’t they tell it’s too early for anyone to be bothered!? Trevor sits up on his knees, regretting his decision almost immediately, but fuck it, whoever’s outside is persistent, and he doubts they’ll go away if he simply ignores them. With a sigh, he uses one hand to grab his pocket-knife while the other, very cautiously, winds down one of the windows enough for his eyes to be visible, but nothing else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately there’s a torch being shone directly into his eyes, causing Trevor to huff under his breath. “You homeless, bud?” A voice asks, and as Trevor’s eyes readjust to the light, he catches sight of a shiny gold badge on the torch-wielder’s jacket. Great, a bloody peeler, just what he needs tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why ya askin’?” Trevor asks in turn, very careful to try and hide his accent from the police officer, but it’s difficult when he’s lived in Manchester for so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The police officer squints quizzically at Trevor, his eyes full of malice. “Got some complaints ‘bout some deadbeat in the area, folks sayin’ he’s been a real eyesore. I’m guessin’ he’s you, yeah? Go on ‘n clear out, wontcha? Lucky it’s so close to Christmas, or I’d be tempted to take you in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On what bloody charges? I ain’t botherin’ no one, officer,” Trevor insists, growing angrier by the second. Why is it that he always gets this sort of treatment from people? He’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>existing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for christ’s sake; it’s not like he’s even bothering anyone around here, he just needed a place to park and sleep, that’s all! “‘Sides, it’s not even illegal, is it? Only is across the pond.” He feels the need to say as much, just in case the law has changed on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cop sneers harder at Trevor, likely hating him for not treating him like the war hero he pretends to be. “Well, it ain’t necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>illegal,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but people </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>requested that I remove ya, so either drive someplace else to sleep whatever you’re taking off, or I’m gonna have to bring ya in, and I doubt you’ll pass the drug test we’ll give ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor is tempted to roll his eyes, but he’s not going to do it while the cop can still see him. “If it’s not illegal, then I’m not goin’ anywhere. Goodnight.” With that, he rolls up the window and lies back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pretty much the second the dark-tinted window finishes closing, the cop goes back to banging on it, this time with a vengeance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Excuse</span>
  </em>
  <span> me!? I told ya to move, ya bloody chav!” The cop shouts, going so far as to kick the side of Trevor’s car. “If ya don’t move this fuckin’ instant, I’ll have ya arrested!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor let’s out a long, tired sigh. He contemplates on trying to go back to sleep, though he knows that even </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>the noise outside doesn’t keep him up, the soon-to-be coming police sirens will. He really should just move his car somewhere else, like to the edge of a forest or an empty car park, but it’s late, and it's miracle enough that he managed to find a safeish place to rest tonight. Can’t he just stay here until morning and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>leave? Apparently not, since he’s been deemed as an “eyesore” by some of the posh bastards in this area, something he thought impossible, since he’s parked in what can only be described as a shithole. For a few seconds, Trevor simply sits and breathes, willing himself to calm down and not lose his temper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One two three, it’s okay. Four five six, just relax. Seven eight-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hear me, ya bastard!? Open this damn door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Without so much as a word of warning or curse, Trevor unlocks the door to his car, and in one swift motion he kicks it as hard as he can, successfully sending the peeler to the ground from the force of it hitting him. But he’s not done with this bastard yet. Slowly, the homeless man drags himself out of his car, feeling the bones beneath his skin crack and squelch as they change shape, and beneath the oversized shroud of his trench coat, Trevor Herbert shifts into the form of a hunter. In all honesty, he prefers calling his hunting form a werewolf since he basically is one at this point, but he’s learned that other hunters absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate it </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he says as much, so he’s agreed to use the same terminology out of respect… respect which he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>be showing this crooked cop tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>lord…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The police officer whispers, eyes wide in terror as he tries to back away from Trevor, now that his trench coat has slipped off of his shoulders and revealed just what he’s become. Huh, so the bloke isn’t one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>cops, is he? No matter, not like Trevor cares either way. “P-Please, don’t eat me!” The pitiful man begs, suddenly acting as respectfully as he can to the beast before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor let’s out a low, throaty chuckle, eyes crinkling at the edges from amusement. “Aw, I ain’t gonna eatcha, son… just teachin’ ya a lil’ lesson, that’s all.” He promises, his voice distorted and more befitting of the monsters he hunts than the monster he’s posing as.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an almost sultry manner, Trevor steps closer to the young officer, letting his clothing slip off without resistance, revealing more and more of his furry, beastly form to the man, with far too many teeth and mouths than the traditional werewolf should have. The peeler continues to cower like a pup, continues to try and crawl away from the hunter, but he soon gets stopped by none other than his own police cruiser, leaving him effectively cornered until he regains his courage to stand up and run, which Trevor knows he won’t have back anytime soon. The two men are now centimeters away from each other, and able to smell each other’s breath, the wolf among them smiling the best he can with all of his maws, forcing himself to salivate in order to feign hunger. The cop whimpers in response, feebly huddling in on himself like a timid child, salty tears dripping down his face as he whines piteously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you listen to me and listen good, boy,” Trevor whispers, knowing from experience that a quiet monster is far scarier than a loud one. “Don’t come botherin’ me or anybody else sleepin’ ‘round here again, you hear? Your people should know by now that I don’t take kindly to no peelers near my dens, ‘specially when they’re so rude to me. Now, it’s very late, and I’m downright knackered, so how ‘bout you run along home and tell your bosses all about this lil’ incident, yeah? Tell ‘em that the next time they want me gone, all they gotta do is be </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>polite like, and I’ll be inclined to hear ‘em out… now </span>
  <em>
    <span>git!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He barks out the last word directly in the cop’s face, if only to really drive the message home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Trevor sits back and lets the pathetic man scurry back into his car, screaming the whole way to safety. The older brit manages a laugh at the sight, but he’s careful to keep up his intimidating persona until his prey is gone. After a few seconds of frenzied panic, the police officer finally drives off, taking off like a bat out of hell, which leaves twin trails of burnt rubber tracks in the road as he speeds away. That oughta keep the peelers off his turf for at least a little while… that, or a few of their own dogs might come looking for a fight, but Trevor seriously doubts it’ll come to that. Yeah, their lot is a protective bunch, but the cop he scared isn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>packmate yet… but he’ll probably become one within a few days, now that he’s seen what’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>out there. At this, Trevor let’s himself laugh for real, finding it ironic that he might’ve just made another Section 13 mutt when he was only trying to scare the brat off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like that’s a first, though, so there’s no point in worrying about it. With a heavy sigh, Trevor turns tail and stalks back to his rusty old car, having to bite his tongue to keep from panting with fatigue. Good lord, what he wouldn’t give for a good </span>
  <em>
    <span>chase </span>
  </em>
  <span>right now, or even a nice, warm meal to fill him up. He’s half tempted to chase after the cop and get his fix, maybe do more than just scare the lil’ runt, but he knows better than to do something so foolish. Much as his body aches to rip something apart, especially after he’s committed to shifting forms, Trevor won’t let himself go that far. He doesn’t kill anything that isn’t connected to or ruled by the supernatural; that’s his code of honor, and by god, he’s not going to go back on it. Once he’s crawled back into his makeshift home, the hunter locks the doors again and tries to go back to sleep, internally praying that if he just lays down and closes his eyes, his body will get the message and shift back to it’s human form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After damn near thirty minutes of just lying there, still furry and monstrous from head to toe, Trevor begins with his breathing exercises again, hoping they won’t be so rudely interrupted this time around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One two three, relax. Four five six, breathe in and out. Seven eight nine, your name is Trevor Herbert. Ten eleven twelve, there’s nothing to hunt. Thirteen fourteen fifteen, you can be Trevor again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Very slowly, the hunter opens his eyes again, discovering quickly that his body has shifted almost all the way back to human, save for his hands still having claws and… yep, those are wolf ears on his head. He huffs under his breath, frustrated that he isn’t completely human again. At this point, he can’t even tell if it’s because he’s getting on in years, or because he’s becoming more of a hunter by the day. In either case, it’s not a good sign that he’s struggling to shift back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bollocks,” Trevor murmurs, sitting up with a long, weathered sigh. “Not gonna get anymore sleep tonight, am I? Figures,” He crawls into the front seat of the car, having to shove and kick the trash he’s collected out of the way. Once settled, he grabs a pair of worn out gloves and an old beanie from the glove compartment, pulling on the articles of clothing to hide his more animal-like features. “Suppose if I can’t sleep, it’s best I get back on the road… maybe there’ll be something I can hunt after all.” He drives off just as the sun begins to rise, his heart already heavy before the day’s begun.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>If Trevor thought that the worst ends of Manchester were cold, he gets a nasty surprise when driving into London, as the city has been treated to an early snowfall this year. All along the streets, crowds of people bundled in highly-priced coats and jackets march through the browning sludge with a skip in their steps, singing Christmas carols as loud as they can. Trevor grimaces at the sight, knowing all too well that it makes him look like a real Scrooge, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s never much cared for the holidays. Even as a kid, it wasn’t a happy time of year for him, his only joy in life coming from his older brother and the antics they got into together. At the thought of Nigel, the hunter feels his throat begin to clog up with tears. No no no, he shouldn’t be thinking of his brother right now, not when he’s been in a bad mood for weeks now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He… he needs a fix. It’s not something he’s particularly proud of, and more than anything he’d like the power to quit, but heroin is pretty much the only thing besides a proper hunt that makes Trevor happy anymore, and good god, what he wouldn’t give to be happy tonight. The hunter is just about to turn down a street he knows leads to the worse parts of London, where he hopes to find someone willing to cut him a deal, but just as he’s about to flick on his turn signal, he spots him. There, at the corner of the intersection, is an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>massive </span>
  </em>
  <span>man- far taller than Trevor, though that isn’t really an achievement- with a square shaped face and a seemingly permanent scowl. However, it’s not the man himself that really catches Trevor’s eye; no, it’s the tall, slender man in all black down the road from the giant that does, something about him making his heart race and his blood boil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Must be some kind of monster, or at least someone who’s turned to monsters for power. Trevor scowls at the sight of the skinny stranger, hating him already; anyone who sides with monsters isn’t to be trusted, especially if they use the monsters’ help for their own personal gain. For a moment, Trevor contemplates on continuing his search for heroine, but… if he can avoid it, he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>like to. Slowly, he turns the car around and begins to follow the two men, though he doubts they’re together, as the taller fellow is pacing several feet behind the other, his rigid stature suggesting he’s just as hungry as Trevor. Is he a fellow hunter? Perhaps, but if that’s the case, Trevor can only hope that the man won’t mind sharing his kill. He could always try to fight the other hunter for it, of course, but he knows he isn’t as big and burly as most of the others he’s run into. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>be able to win, but it wouldn’t be worth the injuries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before long, Trevor gives up on driving after his prey. He ends up parking on the side of the road, too hungry to care if he’s parked illegally or not as he jogs to catch up with the two men, careful to slow down once he’s within smelling distance. From there, the smaller hunter does what he does best, and blends seamlessly into the crowd of bystanders, only sticking out due to how dirty his clothes are, but even then he looks like little more than a sad, homeless old man looking for shelter or charity. His head ducked low, Trevor keeps his eyes glued to the back of the other hunter, forced to trust the stranger to lead him toward his prey. Within a few minutes though, it becomes clear that the other hunter knows that Trevor is following him, his stance becoming even more guarded than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>second </span>
  </em>
  <span>they pass by an alleyway, the giant of a man swings around, glaring daggers down at Trevor, who knows better than to glare back at the other hunter. The stranger nods to the nearby alley, prompting the old man to follow him inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you following me?” The hunter asks, and good god, Trevor did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>expect his voice to be so damn</span>
  <em>
    <span> soft. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It honestly catches him off-guard, forcing him to freeze in place and gape up at the other hunter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could smell ya huntin’ from a mile away, mate,” Trevor says, not feeling the need to lie to the stranger. He hopes that if he’s honest that it might convince this guy to let him hunt alongside him; people tend to trust those who don’t lie very often. “Happened to be in the area, ‘n was lookin’ for a good hunt ‘a my own… don’t suppose you’re willin’ ta share, are ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks Trevor up and down, his eyes scanning him for some sort of secret or tell, but when he finds nothing of the sort, his shoulders slouch with relief. “You’re telling the truth… I appreciate that, if I’m gonna be honest. Didn’t realize there were others like me in the area.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really from around here. Manchester’s my usual huntin’ ground, but I’ve taken to a bit of travel as of late,” Trevor explains, hoping that the other hunter won’t ask for more details on that front; he doesn’t want to admit that the peelers over there have been harassing him. “You really the only hunter in London? Figured there’d be more ‘a us out this way, seein’ as there’s a lot to hunt ‘round here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>more, it’s just… no one’s going after the same beasts as I am,” The stranger says, suddenly becoming more closed off, taking to nervous fidgets as he averts his eyes. “Look, I’ll let you hunt with me, but… leave the heart intact, alright? That’s mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The heart? Sure, I’m not exactly eatin’ ‘im anyhow; I’m just here to make the streets a bit safer, and if it means getting my fix, I’m not complainin’,” Trevor explains. After a few tense, quiet seconds, he holds out one of his hands to the other man. “The name’s Trevor, by the way. Trevor Herbert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trevor Herbert, huh? Think I heard ‘a you, at least a bit ‘mong the other hunters,” The hunter admits, holding out his own, somewhat shaky hand to Trevor. “You can just call me Bob or Bobby if you’d like… sorry, I don’t feel comfortable saying anymore than that, though I appreciate you being honest with me thus far, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fair. All I can say is I don’t go after other hunters, so long as they don’t come after me first,” Trevor assures, not taking offense to Bob’s secretiveness. After all, not all hunters are without family and friends like he is. After the handshake, Trevor smiles, trying to make Bob feel less uncomfortable. “So, what’re we huntin’ tonight? Couldn’t tell from a distance what it was you were stalkin’, but it smells awful bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Bob grows a bit self-conscious, eyes glances toward the alleyway’s entryway in search of eavesdroppers. “…I’m after a member of the People’s Church. Have you heard of them? They don’t have a lot of members up in Manchester, but they’re most everywhere by now, even across the pond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor can’t keep himself from shivering. “I’ve heard of their lot before… nasty bunch ‘a blokes, that’s for sure,” He murmurs, remembering a few run-ins he’s had with their cult since he devoted himself to this lifestyle. “They can be a dangerous sort, especially in large groups. You huntin’ ‘em one by one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob actually manages a small smirk. “Bingo,” He says, giving the older man a snap of encouragement. “Nice to finally meet another hunter who isn’t only in it for the kill. You still up for comin’ with me? It’ll be a messy affair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Messy is my specialty,” Trevor promises, grinning from ear to ear as the hunt draws nearer. It’s been a long while since he’s had a proper hunt, and he’s eager for it. “I’ll let ya lead the way, mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, the two hunters leave the alleyway side by side, keeping up a casual appearance to the other passersby. To Trevor’s relief, the man Bob was stalking stopped in a shop while they were talking, so it’s not hard at all to catch back up with him. They follow him for almost two miles worth of walking, during which they talk ideally between themselves, if only to keep up appearances so they won’t be noticed. Trevor can’t help but actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bob as he makes smalltalk with the other man; he seems like a genuinely kind person, though he takes his role as a hunter </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>seriously, something the homeless hunter can deeply relate with. Although Bob doesn’t outright mention it, it occurs to Trevor that the other man likely has children, just based on a few of the things he says. No wonder he’s a bit hesitant to give out more information about himself; he’s got at least a pup or two back home to protect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not much longer before their prey starts to separate from the common folk, making his way deeper downtown, likely towards his nest. At this, Bob starts speeding up his pace, getting ready to charge. Trevor mimics him, though he has to work harder to keep up with the other hunter, on account of the sizable height difference between them. Another two blocks, then they’re on a long, almost empty road filled with dilapidated apartment buildings and abandoned stripmalls. No one will care if blood is shed here. With the moon now high up above, and the street before the hunters shrouded in inky blackness, save for the occasional streetlamp, Bob leaps forward with all his might, dead silent as he gets on all fours and charges, shifting almost effortlessly; Trevor wishes he was so fortunate. Instead, his transformation is slower, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>more painful, but he changes well enough, and goes running after Bob as soon as he’s able to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cultist has no time to react before Bob’s tackling him from behind, slamming him face-first into the concrete below his feet. Trevor catches up within a few seconds, stopping in his tracks as he realizes that Bob has the cultist pinned under a lit streetlamp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, get ‘im outta sight, mate,” Trevor wheezes out, struggling to speak through the ache in his bones. “Don’t want no one seein’ ‘im.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one will come for him here, not when he’s in the light.” Bob growls, though Trevor knows the other hunter’s anger isn’t directed at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, the cultist writhes under Bob, visibly terrified when the wolf doesn’t so much as twitch in response. “P-Please Robert, don’t do this,” The cultist begs, eyes wide and frightful. It’s only now that Trevor notices that the man’s eyes are pitch black, his pupils so big that there’s no white left. “I-I know you’re upset, but it h-had to be done! You know this won’t bring her back, ri-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the man can finish pleading, Bob buries his teeth in his throat, sending a long jet of blood shooting through the air to splatter onto the asphalt. Trevor doesn’t so much as blink, accustomed to the mess that comes with this line of work. He stays back for the most part, aware that this is a very personal affair for the other hunter, which does admittedly frustrate him. He was hoping for a good, long chase tonight, but apparently Bob is all business. It’s not a bad thing by any means, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>kill the much needed rush for Trevor, meaning he might need that blasted heroine after all. As he sits back, allowing Bob to rip further into the cultist, Trevor notices movement out of the corner of his eye. Immediately he stands ready, turning his head and watching the shadows. Something thick, almost liquid with it’s slickness, maneuvers silently around the round rim of the lamplight, the creature circling the hunters like it’s one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon closer inspection, it’s not alone. As far as Trevor can see down the abandoned street, shadows that have been stuffed with an unnatural life slither from the buildings and out of the gutters, writhing like worms as they all drawer closer to one another, meeting in the middle of the empty street. The shadow that Trevor first noticed joins it’s comrades, slinking away from the hunters to huddle with the other monsters, the lot of them shaking and bubbling as they forcibly melt their bodies together, growing larger and larger with each added shadow. Finally, the beast takes on the likeness of the hunters, it’s body looking like a large wolf of some kind, pitch black save for the horrifying white of it’s eyes, which squint quizzically at Bob in particular. Without his consent, Trevor’s ears fold back with fear, a deep whine building in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate,” Trevor is careful not to call Bob by name, not when they’re being stared down by what looks like a literal nightmare. “Mate, we need to go. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob pauses his mutilation, his head tilting up with a look of confusion on his face as blood drips thick and sticky down his chin. “What did you sa-” He goes to ask Trevor to repeat himself, but in an instant, the wolf-like creature attacks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It moves so quickly that Trevor can’t make out any of it’s features anymore, only seeing it as a big, black shadow as it </span>
  <em>
    <span>slams </span>
  </em>
  <span>into Bob, sending the wolf tumbling into the darkness of the night. Actually, now that he’s paying attention to his surroundings better, the homeless hunter realizes that it’s grown </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>darker outside since Bob and he charged after the cultist, seemingly to an unnatural extent. Was the cultist just bait, made to draw Bob into a more vulnerable position? Considering the fact that this obviously isn’t Bob’s first hunted cultist, it’s very likely. Even so, Trevor isn’t about to abandon another hunter, especially not one who’s treated him so well. He waits for a few seconds, watching the darkness for movement, and the minute he sees it, he lunges forward, teeth bared. Although he’s getting on in years as a hunter, Trevor still considers himself to have good aim, something that’s proven as right when he hits the monster dead-on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever the monster really is, it feels slick like an eel, but without any of the wetness that one might expect. However, as Trevor digs his teeth deep into the flesh of his prey, he feels something thick and impossibly cold slip into his mouth. He gags, the noise choked against his mouthful. Whatever the hell this beast is bleeding out, it tastes foul, like caster oil left to bake in the sun, and with the consistency of chunky oatmeal. Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>such a bad taste in his mouth, Trevor bites deeper, careful not to swallow as he wounds his prey. The beast he’s biting spasms and shakes, but makes no sound. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>make sound though is Bob, the hunter shouting from very close by, and seconds later, Trevor feels something else tackle the monster, likely giving it the exact same treatment. As a result, the beast vibrates even harder, until suddenly… it’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an audible </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the air as the lamplight overhead snaps apart, glass scattering to the ground as the shadowy creature disappears from sight. With the lamplight gone, Trevor’s eyes begin to adjust to the dark more effectively, giving him a better view of the scene in front of him. Bob’s a few feet away, looking disheveled but not bearing any obvious wounds or lacerations. The asphalt is splattered with something even darker than it’s surface, making Trevor wince; it smells just as bad as it tastes. Speaking of which, he makes a point out of spitting on the ground several times, shaking his head rapidly to try and help, but no matter how hard he coughs, a small fragment of the monster’s taste stays stuck to his tongue, making his stomach churn with the threat of vomit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloody hell,” Trevor growls, spitting a few more times for good measure. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>that thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Pitch… at least, that’s what the People’s Church calls it,” Bob explains, flashing Trevor an apologetic smile. “Didn’t know it would be attacking me so soon after last time… sorry, Trevor; should’ve warned you not to bite it, but there was no time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, so long as this taste doesn't stay forever,” Trevor shivers at the very thought; a life of bad tastes would be worse than death. “This shite poisonous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite, but it’ll make you sick,” Bob warns, his eyes full of sympathy. “I really am sorry that you got targeted too, Trevor… it wasn’t my intention to drag anyone else into this mess. Still, I’m thankful that you stuck around to save me. Not that you could’ve outrun the shadows, but I saw how you lunged at that thing; you’re tougher than you look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor can’t keep back a smirk, happy to get complimented for the first time in what feels like years. “Thank you. It’s all practice, I think. After all, I’ve been huntin’ since I was a pup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob’s eyes widen a little. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Really </span>
  </em>
  <span>now? I know you’re proud of that, but… I’m sorry to hear you grew up with this. I’ve only taken up this lifestyle recently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem a lot more skilled than the usual pups I’ve met,” Trevor says, wanting to give Bob some praise in return. “Were you involved with fighting before this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob averts his eyes, giving Trevor the sense that he’s deeply ashamed of himself. “I… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have,</span>
  </em>
  <span> unfortunately. Stupidly enough, I was a peeler before this, but I’m not proud of it. That wasn’t what made me a hunter, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor can’t keep back his look of surprise, as most hunters he’s met became so through the police’s influence. “Sounds like a long story,” He says, making a point out of lowering his voice a bit. “Much as I’d love to hear it, we’d best get somewhere a little safer… less </span>
  <em>
    <span>dark,</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much to Trevor’s embarrassment, Bob chuckles at him. “You have a point,” He agrees, his smile less guarded, now that Trevor has made it clear that they’re on the same side. “I take it you don’t have anywhere to go, right? I didn’t want to mention it before, but I can tell you’re in a bad way… do you want to stay with me for a few days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor jolts in surprise. “You sure?” He asks, shocked that someone would offer him shelter. Sure, he’s used to the occasional offer of food or money, but never a roof over his head! Not since… well, at least he knows Bob isn’t a vampire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah; anything for a friend. Come on, it’s a little far from here, but I’ve got a ride hidden a few blocks down,” Bob explains, leading the way further down the dark, unlit street. “Oh, and one thing? No hunt talk in the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor gives a loose nod, and if he walks closer to Bob than before, he’s not ashamed to admit it’s because he’s scared. “Whatever you say, mate.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Home Sick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m so fucking sorry that this took forever to update; I got really obsessed with the SCP Foundation, and then it all sorta snowballed from there. Thankfully I’m still utter trash for everything TMA, so at least I’m not about to lose interest anytime soon! Anyways, here’s Trevor being a good uncle/soon to be adoptive dad. Also, happy “TMA Ended but I’m Still Gay and Attached to These Characters” you guys can’t get rid of me THAT easily!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>By the time Trevor and Bob reach the latter hunter’s house, it’s nowhere near daybreak, and yet the dull, shining street lamps in the otherwise modest suburbia fill Trevor with more ease than he feels he has any right to. Part of this comfort he blames on Bob’s car, which is a very tidy black Ford that’s inconspicuous and warm, the heating cranked as hot as it will go. Trevor didn’t ask Bob to do this for him, but he certainly isn’t going to ask him to turn it off, all but leaning against the nearest vent to suck up it’s wonderful warmth and keep it for as long as he’s able. Bob is nice enough to not say anything on the matter, his gaze focused on the road ahead of him as he drives closer and closer to his destination. All the while, Trevor tries not to look around too much, for fear of appearing distrustful, but it’s difficult to not at least fidget when he’s in such unfamiliar territory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is it,” Abruptly, Bob parks halfway down the street, holding out an arm in front of Trevor to keep the other man from lurching forward at the sudden stop, not that it’s really needed, but he still appreciates the thought. Slowly, Bob turns to look at Trevor, and for the first time since they met this morning, Trevor feels almost afraid of the other man, able to taste the tension in the air. “Trevor… I think you’re a good man, I really do. But you gotta understand, work and family are two very different worlds for me. On the street, I’m a hunter that will do anything to get the job done, but here, I’m doing my best to be a loving father, and I can’t let that world be compromised for </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If you become a threat to me or my family, there’s nothing I won’t do to keep them safe from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people- most hunters, too- would probably take great offense to Bob’s threat, but Trevor knows a privilege when he sees one, and just because he’s unfortunate enough not to have one doesn’t mean he’s going to burn everyone he meets in retaliation. “I hear ya loud ‘n clear, mate,” Trevor assures, careful to keep his tone warm but still very serious. “I won’t do nothin’ knowingly that’ll hurt your family, but if I do, even by accident, I won’t hold it against ya if ya need to chase me off. Just know I ain’t lookin’ to cause ya any trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob looks Trevor up and down, silently assessing the other man, before his mouth forms a small, almost hopeful smile. “Thank you, Trevor… I really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>appreciate that. Don’t much like actin’ like such an arsehole, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Family’s more important than work,” Trevor finishes for him, if only to assure Bob that he understands what he’s going through, even if he actually doesn’t. “I don’t take no offense to it, Bob. Family’s everythin’ to a lot ‘a men, and I won’t hold that against ‘em. Honestly, I wish I could be the same way, but I’m already too far down this path to turn back now. Best to just take out as much evil as I can ‘fore I’m done in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob grimaces, his mouth opening in preparation to say something about Trevor’s life choices, but a light flickering on from a nearby house draws his attention instead, his eyes dilating slightly as he stares at it for a minute, as if hypnotized. “Must’ve heard the engine,” He murmurs, voice dropping to a whisper as he hastily unbuckles himself, like he’s trying to outrun some kind of all-powerful monster on the horizon. After what happened tonight, Trevor won’t be surprised if he is. “We oughta head in ‘fore Julie gets worried ‘bout me… you’re a work friend, got it? You’re now, uh, Officer Baggins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor bites back on his urge to cackle. “Don’t much like bein’ a damn heeler, but whatever makes this easier on ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ha! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not exactly a </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>title, that much is true, but it’s what Julie thinks I am, so I’m not about to change my profession on her so soon,” Bob actually laughs at what Trevor said, much to the older hunter’s surprise; he was honestly expecting a bit of hostility, considering the police’s pack mentality, but maybe Bob’s different after all… he certainly seems like a good man. “Alright, let’s get on with this, then. Come on, we’ll go through the front.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob’s house looks more or less exactly how Trevor imagined it would, just based off of the few interactions he’s had with the man. It’s a nice, slightly more than modestly sized suburban home, complete with a white picket fence and a few tasteful lawn decorations. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tasteful </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a bit of a stretch; Trevor’s never been a fan of gnomes, but at least these ones aren’t as creepy as the ones he’s used to seeing on rich assholes’ lawns. The cobblestone path leading to the front door is almost painfully short, if only because Trevor feels a ball of nervous butterflies take flight in the pit of his stomach. When was the last time he actually sat down and talked to normal, oblivious people? He can’t really remember, but he hopes his social skills aren’t so rusty that he’ll go scaring whoever’s home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob goes in first, obviously. He unlocks the door and gently pushes it open, his movements slow and quiet, like he’s stalking a new piece of prey, though Trevor knows this isn’t the case. “Julia? Are you still awake, honey?” Bob’s voice takes on a whole new tone when he speaks inside the house, something about him turning so warm and kind, it honestly catches Trevor off-guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy?” Moments later, a little girl comes bounding down a nearby staircase, the child dressed in a long nightgown that, upon closer inspection, looks like an oversized adult t-shirt, which sports a design that Trevor is only sixty percent sure is a Star Wars reference. Once she reaches the ground floor, the girl runs and hugs Bob’s legs, her grip looking strong for a kid as young as her. “Daddy, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>home! </span>
  </em>
  <span>How was work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, same old, same old,” Bob keeps it vague, which is a good move on his part. Once his daughter is done hugging him, he steps into the house more, revealing Trevor’s short frame standing awkwardly in the doorway behind him. “Julia, this is one of Daddy’s work friends; his name is Trevor Baggins, and he’s going to be staying with us for a few days, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia turns to look at Trevor, her smile widening significantly. “Hello, Officer Baggins. It’s very nice to meet you!” She says, stepping closer to Trevor so she can offer him one of her hands. Hesitantly, he accepts the handshake, and again, he’s taken aback by her strength as she shakes his hand in a surprisingly tight squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong </span>
  </em>
  <span>one, arentcha?” Trevor jokes, though he fears his voice comes out a touch uneasy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia giggles. “My dad says I drink too much milk, so now my bones are stronger than steel,” She explains, finishing her sentence with a big, tired yawn. “Sorry, Mr. Baggins… I know yawning real big isn’t very polite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob chuckles from behind his daughter, secretly shooting Trevor an amused smile. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, honey. It’s hard to sleep when Daddy isn’t home, isn’t it?” He gets a small, tired nod in response. As Julia lets go of Trevor’s hand, Bob scoops her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style as he heads to the staircase. “Feel free to make yourself at home, Trev. I’ll be back in a minute, alright? Gotta make sure this lil’ biter gets to bed ‘fore sunrise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Julia says in what is most certainly a whine. “I didn’t get to show Mr. Baggins ‘round the house yet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can show him sometime tomorrow, baby girl. But right now, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need your sleep. After all, you still got school tomorrow.” Bob murmurs, finishing with a peck on the little girl’s forehead. With that he heads upstairs with her, leaving Trevor still standing in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather awkwardly, Trevor closes and locks the door as he steps into the house, shivering slightly as the warmth seeps into his very bones, prompting him to pull his jacket off and hang it on a nearby coat rack. For a moment, he considers going in unarmed, however… while he likes Bob a lot, he’s not about to be without his pocket knife until he’s six feet under, and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d better be buried with it. After retrieving his most prized possession from his jacket, Trevor slips the weapon into his only pants pocket that he can zip closed, his shoulders hunched as he awkwardly tiptoes further into the house. As is to be expected by now, Bob’s house is just as unassuming on the inside as it is on the outside, save for the walls being absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>covered</span>
  </em>
  <span> in framed photographs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn near every photo has Julia in them, much to Trevor’s amusement. There’s one of her in a little league’s football uniform, the knees of her pants stained brown and green, all while she grins at whoever is taking the photo. There’s another where she’s dressed as what looks like a vampire- Trevor struggles not to wince- complete with strawberry jam all over her face and a pillowcase full of what must be candy in one of her hands. Pretty much all of the pictures are like this, marking milestones in little Julia’s life, but as Trevor continues down the homey hallway, he starts spotting a few older photographs hung between the childhood memories. These ones are of a slightly younger looking Bob, as well as a woman the homeless man is fairly certain is Bob’s aforementioned dead wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor can’t help but frown as he looks at one photo in particular, where Bob and his wife are dressed in elegant clothing and cutting a three-tier cake together; it must be one of their wedding photos. In the background, Trevor is surprised to see the very People’s Church cultist that he and Bob hunted down earlier. It really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>personal, wasn’t it? This is the part of the job that bothers Trevor the most; the question of why someone- or in most cases, some</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing-</span>
  </em>
  <span> could just up and ruin someone’s life like this. How can anything just… just </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroy</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone’s family? What level of cruelty does it take to needlessly slaughter a loving, happy woman just trying to live her life? Trevor knows he isn’t exactly a saint, but no one should suffer so much that they have to turn to hunting monsters to cope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you found the family photos,” Bob says, snapping Trevor out of his daze and, by extension, causing the older man to jump in surprise. Luckily for Trevor, Bob is nice enough not to laugh or comment on this, preferring to just shuffle closer and stand side by side with the other man, his eyes scanning the wedding photo with him. “This one is from me ‘n Linette’s wedding back in ‘84… just a couple years ‘fore Julie was born, back when we were both still new to the People’s Church,” He glances at Trevor, something about his stance becoming more guarded than before. “I know you must think me ‘n her were real idiots, gettin’ involved with the Church… but we had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>before them. I was an orphan, and Linette had been beaten senseless by her mum all her life, so after we found each other, it just… it made sense, in a way. The church found us, and they gave us the family we’d always longed for. You gotta understand, we didn’t realize how screwed up it was until… well, I guess we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> found out after they took Linette. She tried to leave, since she and I had our suspicions about the church’s intentions for years, but I suppose they didn’t take that well, seeing as they killed her for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m real sorry, mate,” Trevor whispers, not having the heart to judge Bob for the choices he made prior to losing his wife. After all, he certainly knows a thing or two about becoming dependent on unhealthy things. “No one deserves to go through that kinda shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, but at the very least, it woke me up to how fucked up this world really is, and how little the things people in power are doing to help us,” Bob suddenly growls outright, the sound seeming so foregin from such a gentle giant of a man. “I used to think we heelers were the good guys, goin’ out ‘n keeping the streets clean, but it was all just a ruse, a cover-up. All my so-called brothers ‘n sisters, they’re either huntin’ the wrong people, or they don’t hunt at all, just hurt ‘n hurt ‘n hurt, until all that’s left are good people fighting the darkness by themselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a pretty melodramatic speech, but Trevor doesn’t have the guts to say as much. “So when’d you become a full hunter?” He may as well ask, since they’re on the subject. If being a cop didn’t turn Bob into a hunter, then what did?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob shrugs. “Dunno, really. Sort of just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not all at once, but it wasn’t exactly slow, either. Within a couple ‘a weeks of Linette dyin’, I started feeling more like an animal, and ‘fore I knew it, I was changing into one while stalkin’ my prey. I was shocked at first- </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared </span>
  </em>
  <span>even- but I can’t say I hate it. If anything, it fits like a glove better than bein’ a heeler ever did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor nods in loose agreement, feeling similarly about his own transformations. “Mine happened pretty quickly, too. Figure I started turnin’ after my second hunt, when I realized I wasn’t just hallucinating the first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘pup’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>when you first started… how old were you?” Now Bob starts asking the questions, which is fair enough, given that Trevor technically started it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a result, Trevor doesn’t feel many reservations against telling Bob the truth about his beginning as a hunter. “I was ‘bout fourteen, give or take. Ya see, me ‘n my brother were orphans after our pops killed Mum and drank himself to death. The system kept tryin’ to separate us from each other, tried givin’ us different families ‘cross the whole bloody country, but we weren’t havin’ it. After awhile, we just stuck to bein’ homeless; so long as we were together, it didn’t matter that we were poor. Unfortunately, we got caught by somethin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I used to tell myself it was all in my head, that it hadn’t happened the way I ‘member it, but I know now that that’s a lie. A vampire tricked me ‘n my brother into going home with ‘er, ‘n after she had us settled, she drained all the blood from Nigel’s body while I hid under ‘is bed like a damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I managed to kill ‘er somehow, but it took killin’ another vamp years later to realize what I had to do. Now I hunt whenever I can, clearin’ the streets of mindless monsters so no one else has to go through that kinda nightmare ever again.” It sounds, in retrospect, much more selfless than it actually is, but Trevor will take what kindness he can give himself these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trevor,” Bob’s voice is little more than a whisper, and if Trevor didn’t know any better, he’d think he sees tears gathering in the other man’s eyes. “I know there’s nothing I can do to… to make things right, but you’re always welcome here with me and Julia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, mate… that means a lot ta me,” He says, and to his relief, a yawn from his own throat breaks what would’ve likely been a very long and awkward silence. “Damn, I’m beat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob’s quick to nod in agreement. “Same here, if I’m being honest. Here, I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight, alright? I’d offer ya the old guest room, but… the couch will have to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That alone is a luxury, so Trevor doesn’t argue, simply sighing with fatigue as he trudges after Bob. The younger hunter leads him into a small, cozy den, complete with a fireplace, much to Trevor’s excitement. He wants so badly to light it, to get even warmer, but he knows it’s not his place to go fussing with another man’s things, especially in said man’s own </span>
  <em>
    <span>house! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fortunately for Trevor, Bob goes ahead and starts a fire without him having to beg for one. As the fire roars to life, Trevor looks nervously around the room, because although he’s been welcomed inside by the owner of the house, he still feels woefully out of place here, like someone as unkempt and ragged as him isn’t meant to live in a proper home. Still, he doesn’t have the heart to leave, not when his car is miles away and Bob has been so accommodating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That oughta do it,” Bob mutters, clapping his hands to get the soot off of them as he turns to face his guest. “Should keep going through the night, but if you start getting nervous ‘bout it, feel free to throw in another log, alright?” He gestures to a small collection of logs beside the fireplace, his smile warmer than the fire that’s beginning to burn behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you again, Bob.” Trevor murmurs, not sure what else he can actually say to show his appreciation. The few times he’s been offered a place to sleep, he usually pays back whoever helped him by hunting some fresh kill for them, but seeing as he’s in a proper suburbia… he hopes Trevor won’t mind if he brings him back a few rabbits and squirrels instead of a deer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no trouble,” Bob assures, his mouth suddenly forming a slight grimace. Trevor can’t help but lean away from the other man in response, not sure what he’s done wrong. “Sorry, sorry, I just… it’s been awhile since I’ve had anyone over. Not since Linette passed,” The man admits, and again, Trevor spots wetness in his eyes. “You sleep well, alright? Me ‘n Julia tend to get up pretty early, especially on school days, but I’ll try to keep her from botherin’ ya ‘til after she comes home. Sorry in advance if I can’t; kinda hard arguing with a six year old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor can’t keep back a chuckle. “I imagine it ain’t… kids are pretty damn stubborn,” He agrees, yawning again as he scratches at his beard. “Sorry mate, I gotta stop yawnin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob is sympathetic, waving him off as he goes to retrieve some pillows and blankets from a closet down the hall. “I’ll let you get some sleep, Trev; you’ve been through a lot tonight. Besides, I imagine Mr. Pitch’s blood might start making ya sick soon, so you haven’t much time for restful sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Pitch? You mentioned that name earlier, when that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> attacked us. It some kinda ghost?” Trevor makes a wild guess, having never seen something quite like a moving, violent shadow monster before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob bites his lip to keep back a laugh, but Trevor notices all the same. “Not quite. It’s hard to explain, but Mr. Pitch is kind of like… like an </span>
  <em>
    <span>embodiment </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the Church’s influence and wishes. Except not quite, seeing as it’s been known to attack church members just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor nods. “Maybe it’s something </span>
  <em>
    <span>created </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the Church, but they can’t quite control it?” He suggests, wanting to make his own guess about the strange being’s existence. “Sounds an awful lot like the poltergeists I’ve run into a few times now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob nods in turn. “That’s not a bad idea, but… I don’t know for certain. All I know is that Mr. Pitch can’t be reasoned with; it takes and takes and takes, leaving nothing but shriveled corpses behind for everyone else to shiver at,” He looks away then, face tinted a soft red. “Sorry, that came out pretty dramatic, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor shrugs. “Pretty dramatic myself, mate,” He admits, knowing just how guilty he is of going on long, weird rants about the supernatural; he’s starting to think it’s why other hunters avoid him most of the time. That, or it’s the smell. “So, this sickness… how bad is it gonna be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob grimaces, which is enough to make Trevor want to throw up everything in his stomach out of fear. “Like I said, it won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but… it’ll be an </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful </span>
  </em>
  <span>experience. You’ll be throwing up black bile for at least a day or so, and that’s if you didn’t consume too much of it’s blood. You’ll also probably be getting a migraine and a lot of aches and pains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit,” Trevor says, not realizing that his wolf ears are out and folded back. However, once the heat of the fire reaches his furry ears, the hunter can’t help but balk, throwing his hands over his hair in an instant. “Sor- Sorry, mate,” He stutters out a quick apology, beyond embarrassed by what he sees as a very rookie mistake. “I’ll try to hide ‘em from the kid, I sw-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Don’t bother,” Bob says, his tone going much darker in a heartbeat, but upon closer inspection of the man’s face, Trevor can tell he isn’t frustrated with him. “I’m afraid that while Julia doesn’t know what I do for a living, she does, um…” He trails off, unable to make himself say it. “Look, I’ll fill you in in the morning, alright? It’ll be easier to show you than explain it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine. Think I’m passin’ out anyways,” Trevor murmurs, rubbing a hand across his face to try and alert his senses, but he can barely feel it over the all encompassing layer of fatigue surrounding his very soul. “Jesus, I’ve never… never been this tired in my bloody life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob winces, eyes full of sympathy. “That would be the sickness setting in. Come on, let’s get you lying down,” He leads Trevor to the couch, and after helping him out of his jeans and sweater, he maneuvers Trevor to lay down on the couch, quick to cover him in a few of the blankets he brought in. “If you get cold, there are more blankets next to your clothes; I’ll put them on my armchair. Here’s a pillow, too,” Bob hands Trevor one of the pillows he brought with him, backing off a step as he looks the older hunter over, wringing his hands anxiously. “Do you need anything else? Any pain killers? Some water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor shakes his head. He actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> really like some painkillers and drink, but he hasn’t the heart to ask for anything more from the man. “No thank you,” He whispers, struggling to keep the fatigue-inspired anger out of his voice. “Wake me up if anything happens, got it? Not lettin’ anything happen to you or your girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob smiles, going so far as to pat Trevor on the shoulder. “Thanks, Trev… you’re a good man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I ain’t.” Trevor manages to mutter, though he quickly loses his words, too tired to stay awake anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He misses whatever Bob says next, falling into a deep, heavy sleep for the first time in God knows how long.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Trevor knows he isn’t much of a morning person. He can try all he likes to get up early and start his day just as the sun comes up, but deep down, he knows himself to be a night owl. With this in mind, it’s very rare that Trevor even </span>
  <em>
    <span>tries </span>
  </em>
  <span>to force himself up early, especially since he rarely if ever has a job, much less a schedule. However, as the hunter slowly begins to come to, the sense of being in an unfamiliar place has him more aware than he’s used to, and without thinking about it, he let’s his ears shoot up as high as they’ll go, the dog ears angling themselves this way and that as they try to pick up on anything abnormal, like incoming footsteps or voices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From what sounds like a room away, Trevor can just make out a conversation between two people. At first he feels a sharp pang of terror chill his spine, but upon recognizing the voices to be Bob and his daughter, he immediately relaxes, remembering how kind Bob has been to him since they met yesterday. Not feeling like he’s in danger anymore, Trevor huddles further under the blankets he’s made a cocoon of. For a few minutes, he feels truly safe, and maybe even well-rested, however… a low grumble builds in the pit of his stomach, lacking the hunger pains that Trevor usually associates with such noises. What the hell was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Did he eat something bad last night? He rolls over, clenching his eyes shut as he tries to ignore the newfound pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment later and Trevor is jumping to his feet, running as fast as he can for the nearest restroom. To his relief, he finds one after minimal searching, and after knocking the stepstool in front of the toilet out of his way, the hunter nearly dunks his head in the toilet bowl as he projectile vomits into it. What comes up is thick, black, and not at all resembling the singular chicken burrito Trevor ate yesterday morning. His chest aches at the sight, triggering yet another stream of bile and ink from his throat, and all the man can do is stay where he is and pray he doesn’t lose consciousness; the last thing he needs is to pass out when he’s puking up something so strange!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You doing okay in here?” Bob pokes his head into the bathroom after a few minutes, his eyes full of genuine concern for the other man. “Looks like you swallowed more of that crap than I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor just nods, too exhausted to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob nods in turn, not at all shocked by Trevor’s silence. “Just take it easy for a bit… once you think you’ve got most of it out, come back to the den and I’ll get you some water, alright? Unless… do you think you’ll need help walking back to the couch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor’s quick to shake his head, though the movement makes him dizzy beyond belief. “I’ll- I’ll be fine, mate!” He promises, not having the strength to admit that this sickness has knocked him on his ass harder than he expected it to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob’s eyebrows furrow slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe Trevor, but he isn’t about to argue with a man coughing up everything in his stomach . “If you’re sure,” He murmurs softly, his smile returning soon after. “If you need anything, call me, okay? I’ll keep Julia busy ‘til you’re feeling better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Mr. Baggins sick, Dad?” Julia asks, the girl poking her head out from behind the tall ex-cop’s legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is, baby. Remember when Daddy was real sick last year? Mr. Baggins has that, but even worse,” Bob explains, one of his hands coming to rest on the top of Julia’s head. “Come on, let’s get you ready for school, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Julia says, her expression just as worried as her father’s. “Bye, Officer Baggins; I hope you feel better soon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor would love to say that he will, that Julia shouldn’t have to worry about him, but he’s too busy feeling dead at the moment to so much as wave his goodbyes. After Bob and his daughter have stepped away, the hunter sighs, letting his wolf tail and ears come out as his defenses lower. His ears droop at once, and his tail can’t so much as wag, the fatigue far too much for Trevor to fight off. His arms and legs beginning to ache, Trevor lies down on the cold bathroom tile beneath his knees, nearly moaning as the chill momentarily overrides the burning on his fevered skin. That one comfort enough, he can’t help but fall asleep where he is, the world going unpleasantly dark as he loses consciousness.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s hard to tell how long it’s been since he passed out, but judging by the sun still starting to rise outside the exposed den window, Trevor doubts he’s had more than half an hour of sleep, if he’s even had that. He’s back on the couch, though he doesn’t remember getting here on his own. Much to his embarrassment, the hunter quickly realizes that Bob must have carried him here. Good god, he really has been such a burden on this man and his family, hasn’t he? Once he’s able to get up and work again, Trevor hopes he can somehow make this up to the other hunter. After all, it’s not very often that the homeless man comes across such generous, kind people, especially not ones who are fellow monster hunters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of monsters, when Trevor shifts around, he nearly crushes his tail in the process, forcing him to bite back a loud, unwelcome yip. Despite how much it hurts, the hunter raises his head enough to look down at himself, his eyes widening at the sight before him. This illness must really be bad if he’s in full wolf form. He’s not even in the more hunter-adjacent version of his transformation; no, he’s just a full-on grey wolf who’s curled up on the couch like a common day dog. Trevor huffs through his nose, embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable position, but he knows he can’t do much about it at the moment. With another sigh, he plops his head down on his paws, letting out a low, tired whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trevor? Are you awake?” Bob’s voice has Trevor flinching in surprise, and within seconds, one of the taller man’s hands has come to rest on Trevor’s head, petting the fur there to try and relax him. “Easy, Trevor… do you remember where you are, or who I am? My name is Robert Montauk, I’m a hunter like you, and you’re staying in my house. We met yesterday, and you helped me in a hunt, but after taking out our target, we were attacked by Mr. Pitch, and you were left infected with the monster’s blood. You’re very sick at the moment, but don’t worry, I’m here to help you through this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Trevor let’s his head go back to it’s earlier position, eyes falling half-lidded as he’s hit with another wave of fatigue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Trev… you don’t have to get up until you’re feeling up to it,” Bob assures. He pulls away from Trevor, but he isn’t gone for long. He steps around the couch to face the other man directly, carrying in his hands a bowl of water. “When I first got sick with Mr. Pitch’s blood, I couldn’t shift out of my wolf form, either. I figure we hunters just find it safer than staying human, ya know? Our body’s strongest defense mechanism,” Bob holds out the bowl to Trevor, a few droplets of water sloshing out. “I know you’re tired, but if you can, please drink a bit of water. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trevor gives the bowl an uneasy glance, wanting nothing more than to sleep instead, but if Bob says it’s good for him… well, he hasn’t steered him wrong before, right? Slowly, the wolf leans his head forward and laps at the water with his tongue, the relief of cold water entering his system enough to keep him going until the bowl is empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There we go, not too fast now,” Bob warns, pulling the bowl away after Trevor has finished. He sets the bowl on a nearby coffee table, and much to Trevor's surprise, he then tucks the blankets over the other man more tightly, keeping him from having to do it himself. “You should go back to sleep. After Julia gets home, I’ll keep her out of your hair as much as I can. I’ll wake you up for dinner later, but if you’re not hungry, that’s fine. Just get some rest, Trev,” He pats Trevor a few times on the head again, grabbing the bowl as he walks away. “Here, I’ll keep some water within reach for you. Goodnight, Trevor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Bob steps out of his view, Trevor can’t help but smile, feeling for the first time since he was a kid that he can be vulnerable in front of someone and not get killed. He doesn’t think he’ll make a habit of it, but maybe, just this once, he can let himself feel safe in another man’s company.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For once, I don’t really have much to say at the end of a fic/chapter. Thanks for reading, y’all!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can you tell that I hate cops yet for their massive mistreatment of the people, which more often than not affects those who are POC and/or impoverished? Well, I do; very cringe of me to have wanted to be a cop as a kid, but whatever. Hope you guys ended up liking this chapter! I dunno when the next one will come out, but either way, I’m so excited to write it for you all! Please comment if you’ve got the time; it would really make my day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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